


No Regrets Like Modesto Regrets

by smalltrolven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Amnesia, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Stanford Era, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 00:50:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4080223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalltrolven/pseuds/smalltrolven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanford-era AU, Dean has amnesia and with his autopsy/body-handling expertise has talked his way into becoming a funeral director. He’s created a whole story for himself to explain it and he’s happy, but very lonely.  At the request of a frantic John, Sam reluctantly journeys to the Central Valley town of Modesto, California to search for his wayward brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Regrets Like Modesto Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, only my words. Written for spn-meanttobe for prompt #42. Stranger. Go ahead, listen to No Regrets by Edith Piaf, the lyrics fit the story surprisingly well. Thank you to tebtosca for running this fun challenge (and giving us an extension!) And a huge load of thanks to my beta amypond45 for yet another skillful and helpful job. 
> 
> Prompt #42 Stranger:
> 
> I pay strangers to sleep with me. I have my reasons…
> 
> But they're not the ones you'd expect.
> 
> For starters, I'm a funeral director taking over my dad's business. Not exactly the kind of person you'd expect to fork over cash for the lust and urgency only live skin-to-skin contact can create. Looking at me, you wouldn't have a clue I carry this little secret so close it creases up like the folds of a fan. Tight. Personal. Ready to unravel in the heat of the moment.
> 
> Unsurprisingly, my line of work brings me face-to-face with loss. So I decided long ago that paying for sex would be one of the best (and arousing) ways to save myself from the one thing that would eventually cut far too deep.
> 
> But Sam was a mistake. Literally. I signed on to "pick up" a stranger at a bar, but took Sam home instead. And now that I've felt his heat, his sweat and everything else, can I really go back to impersonal?
> 
> Let's just hope he never finds out about my other life….

 

~**I laid my heart open to the benign indifference of the universe

 - Albert Camus, The Stranger**~

  

“Sammy, damn it! Would you just listen to me for once? I’m telling you. Dean’s just gone. Last I heard from him was a couple of months ago. He was headed out your way. We had a big fight about it, actually,” John’s voice crackles with emotion over the phone.

 

“What, you didn’t want him checking up on me?” Sam challenges, instantly hearing that unsaid jibe about him being at school causing the need for Dean’s absence from John’s side. And god, when will Dad ever freaking get that his name is Sam?

 

John sighs, long and loud. “Yeah, I told him he should let you go. You wanted to do your own thing, right? Well, you know him, he’s always gotta mother hen you.”

 

“Mother hen? Is this the Dean I know?”

 

“Sammy, it’s been…since you left. Well, it’s been bad. For Dean. He’s had a real hard time, getting used to you being gone.”

 

Sam hears the unsaid admission that it’s been hard for his dad too, but that last Sammy is still one too many. “It’s Sam. He has?”

 

“Yeah. And that’s why I didn’t want him coming out there to see you. What’s broken should stay broke, otherwise it’s worse the second time around.” John says like it should be the most obvious thing in the world.

 

“Dad, you really don’t know where he is?” Sam asks, more worried now that John’s admitted how bad it’s been since he left.

 

“Yeah, and I can’t stop tracking this guy that I’ve been on for more than a month now. He’s gonna lead me to something on the demon, I just know it. Can you please just take your spring break and go look for him. I traced our last call to Modesto, so he made it at least that far out towards you. Please, Sammy.” 

 

Sam grits his teeth and holds in the correction of his name that he knows he should make. But his father’s never asked him for something like this, not like this. And he’s worried for Dean. “All right, all right. I’ll go. I was just gonna stay here over break. I’ll call you if I find out anything.”

 

“Okay, thanks, Sammy.”

 

“It’s Sam,” he says to the buzzing of the dial tone in his ear.

 

~*~

 

It takes a while to figure out the bus schedule to get from Palo Alto to Modesto. Luckily he has a little spending money saved up from working at the campus bookstore. Thank god or whoever for work-study assignments.  As he rides the Greyhound down the dusty Central Valley freeway, he remembers a bus trip not all that long ago, how it had taken until the first stop for him to stop crying. He remembers the old lady that was sitting next to him, and how she was passing him kleenex and patting his arm.  

 

The bus had stopped and the comforting old lady had exited, thank god, because that shit had been embarrassing. He’d run a few laps around the parking lot just to stretch his legs. He remembers when the grief and shock of his leave-taking from his family had passed and he’d passed over into giving into admitting his deep anger. He remembers the white and near-bloody crescents in his palms from gripping his fists so tight as he remembered his father’s parting words that had sounded like a death sentence. Then Sam remembers the panicked, broken look on his brother’s face as he leaned against the Impala, waving goodbye for as long as he could still see Sam’s bus. It was a look that he’d never seen before, in his whole life of watching Dean. 

 

The calls that they’d traded back and forth over the last few years had gotten farther and farther apart. Sam had thrown himself into being busy with school, with trying to make a life for himself the first time. And Dean seemed to be throwing himself into hunting more than ever before. He hadn’t thought too much about it, just that it hurt more than he could admit, that Dean hadn’t called him back when he’d left a birthday message for him back in January. So it’s been three months since they’ve even talked.  That’s the longest he’s ever gone in his life without talking to Dean. And he just noticed.  Great. Now the guilt trip Dad was trying to lay on him was starting to take hold.

 

Modesto is a much larger city than he’d imagined, and there’s a lot of parts of the city that would fit the usual places that Dean would choose to stay. He looks around the city for most of the day, and ends up staying in a motel that has a restaurant that looks pretty lively right across the parking lot.  Why not? He needs something to eat, and maybe he’ll be able to ask around about Dean.

 

Sam pushes his way through the swinging saloon style doors and stops so suddenly that the doors whack him in the backside.  He lurches forward and almost crashes into a waitress dressed in some short of cowgirl/shorts outfit carrying a giant tray of drinks.  Recovering his balance, he takes a deep breath and walks towards the man at the bar he’d spotted. The man he’s been searching for.  

 

Dean is sitting sideways on a barstool, beer mug resting on his lips, staring out the window.  He doesn’t seem to see Sam’s approach, and barely moves when he sits on the stool blocking his view out the window.  When his eyes finally raise up to meet Sam’s, there’s an almost visible electric connection made between them. Sam feels his whole body respond with the long-held back longing he’s always tried to hide. 

 

Sam watches as a look crosses his brother’s face that he’s only ever seen when Dean is on the make in a bar, trying to pick up the conquest of the night.  It’s  _the look_. The one that _always_ works. The one he’s even teased Dean about. And now it’s working on him. Shit.

 

“Hi, remember me? Oh, that’s right, I’ve only met you in my dreams,” Dean says in a low, sexy drawl.

 

Sam manages to not laugh in his brother’s face at that terrible pickup line, but just barely. “More like your nightmares. How’ve you been, dude?”

 

“Pretty good, let me buy you a drink. You are close enough to be old enough now, right?” Dean offers, signaling the bartender over. “Hey, Hank, get my friend here a beer with a whisky chaser, and I’ll have another, thanks.”

 

“Hi, I’m Dan Westchester,” Dean says, holding out one hand toward Sam.  Sam quirks a smile at the alias he’s chosen and shakes Dean’s hand.

 

“Hi, Dan, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Sean Matthews,” Sam says, not sure if he was supposed to even invent an alias or not. “So, have you been here long?” Sam asks.

 

“Here, on this barstool? Or in this town?”

 

“Both I guess,” Sam laughs.

 

“Well, I’ve lived here in town pretty much my whole life. And I’ve been on this barstool just long enough to finally meet you.” 

 

Sam’s eyes widen a little at Dean’s answer. So they really are role-playing or something? Maybe there’s a case and Dean’s checking out suspects in this bar right now. He quickly decides to play along. “You’ve been waiting, just for me, huh?”

 

“Yeah, I have. What took you so long anyway?” 

 

“School, job, the usual. But now that I’m here, Dan…”

 

“Yes, what should we do to pass the time, Sean?” Dean jokes, winking as he drains his whisky.

 

Sam’s eyes track the movement of his brother’s hand, how it holds the glass so gently, his full lips opening and then the peek of pink tongue licking at his lips. He’s gotten sucked into the tractor beam power of Dean’s best game. Just like always. He sighs, reminding himself of one of the reason’s he’d left in the first place. This thing between them had been getting harder and harder to ignore. Half the time he hadn’t known if Dean was just teasing him, or if he was truly that oblivious to Sam’s attraction. All Sam had known was that he wasn’t making the first move and then getting teased for the rest of his life. No matter how much he’d wanted Dean, nothing was worth that.  

 

_Nothing is worth that_ , he reminds himself.

 

But now with Dean so close, — _when’d he get so close?_  Dean’s practically trapping him against the bar between his legs, one arm around his lower back pretending to be resting on the back of the barstool.  It’s all too much. He almost breaks character then, the explosion of want and hurt combining in his gut rumbling for release.  But then Dean is leaning in, and whispering against his ear.  “You wanna get out of here?”

 

Sam nods, feeling Dean’s hand brush lower on his back. He starts to stand up, feet hitting the ground between Dean’s spread legs. Dean’s hand ends up on his hip, gripping him possessively through the layers of his jacket and jeans. “You really were worth waiting for,” Dean says, looking up into Sam’s face. 

 

Sam struggles to stay in character for whatever mixed up role he’s supposed to be pulling off here.  _Dean’ll tell him when they get back to his room._   “Hell yeah, I was, you have no idea. I got a room in the motel here.”  Sam downs his whisky and sets the glass back down next to Dean’s.

 

“Thanks, Hank,” Dean says, laying some cash on the bar between the glasses. He stands up and he’s in Sam’s space, there’s only a sliver of air between them.  Dean’s hand finds it’s way to again settle on Sam’s lower back and he pulls him in close, just for a brief moment, so that they can feel how hard the other is. Then he grins, so blinding in it’s effortless ease with the casual way he’s dropped the bomb of their mutual attraction, and steers Sam out through the swinging doors into the dry night air.  

 

Sam struggles to remember his room number and fumbles with his key. Not saying anything, just in case the suspects or whatever happen to be watching them.  Dean’s hand is a warm weight that’s getting warmer and lower on his back, just resting above the swell of his ass, beginning to rub in a small circle that’s maddening. It makes him stumble through getting the door open. 

 

After all his fumbling, they’re finally in there, in his room, together, both of them, alone. Sam’s not sure how it happens, but he’s got his back pressed to the door and Dean’s hands are everywhere all at once.  Without a conversation or a word about what’s going on, or why he’s been missing all this time, Dean just proceeds to light every sense of Sam’s on fire. He feels obliterated. Just gone. His rational mind is no longer accessible. Dean’s lips finally lean up enough to capture his, and they tilt their heads to just the right angles and that’s it. The kiss goes on and on, just like he’d always imagined. Hot, searingly hot, but gentle and needy too. It almost seems like Dean really had been waiting for this from him.

 

Dean’s got most of Sam’s clothes off, as well as his own before Sam even has a moment of thought to hesitate. His brother is just assuming that they’re doing this. _So why would he say no?_

 

Sam gives in then, because he’s waited for too many years to feel this, to have Dean like this, above him, looking down with lust and appreciation. Moving their bodies together like they’ve always been heading here to this point. Years down the road after Sam had ever thought it would happen. It’s happening. And he succumbs then, he doesn’t question, doesn’t worry or fret, he just goes with it, whatever Dean wants to give he’ll take. And vice versa. Just like they are with everything else. 

 

Dean seems to notice when Sam gets completely on board, murmuring his approval and encouragement as he kisses his way down Sam’s body. Sam loses the ability to speak coherently when Dean’s mouth is finally on him. He can barely process that he is inside Dean’s mouth. Those lips he’s always fantasized about are wrapped around him sucking and pulling and he’s never felt anything so perfect, so good, so right.  

 

“I’m perfect, huh?” Dean asks with a low chuckle. Sam blushes a furious red, realizing that he’s said all of that out loud. 

 

“Yeah, always knew you would be,” Sam says, panting hard at the exertion of trying not to come all over Dean’s face, those lips are killing him, red and puffy and slick.

 

“So…Sean, I really wanna fuck you,” Dean says around two fingers that he’s sucking on. Before Sam can respond, those fingers are toying with Sam’s ass, pushing their way in and making Sam lose his mind with pleasure. The small twinge of surprise at hearing his alias name out of his brother’s mouth is quashed when Dean’s mouth is kissing him again instead of saying anything. There’s no confusion about what either of them wants.

 

“Yeah, right now, please, need you in me,” Sam says, tossing his head on the pillow as Dean’s added another finger. 

 

“Hold your horses, sweetheart,” Dean says, withdrawing himself suddenly, he’s off the bed and across the room, pawing through the pile of clothing to find a packet of lube and a condom. He’s ripped both open with his teeth and is kneeling between Sam’s legs on the bed before Sam’s processed that this is really about to happen. The line, the bright line that had always divided them, kept them apart, from  _this_. It is about to be crossed. A thing that can’t be undone. And Sam doesn’t care, he watches Dean’s face as he lubes up his fingers and presses them back inside, the lust evident on his brother’s face. He takes the condom from Dean’s other hand and rolls it down his very hard cock, giving it a few not so gentle strokes.  

 

Dean groans and teeters towards falling onto him, but stops himself, knocking Sam’s hand away.  “Cut it out, or you’re not going to get what you really want.”

 

“And what’s that?” Sam manages to sass at him.

 

“Me. In you, like you said, like this,” Dean says, lining himself and pressing in slowly, in a smooth motion that doesn’t allow Sam to react or push back or slow down.  Dean’s in him, all the way inside, there, taking up all the room Sam’s never knew he had empty. That emptiness is filled now, beyond completely. The enormity of what they’re doing, how long it’s been in coming, and how perfect it feels overwhelms Sam. His eyes start to tear up with the emotion of it all.  

 

“Hey, you okay?” Dean asks with concern, thumbing over the tears that have escaped and are trickling down Sam’s cheeks.  

 

“Yeah, uh, just never done this before, didn’t expect it to feel, so…uh overwhelming. I‘m good now, c’mon, go,” Sam insists. Shaking his head so that Dean’s hand is dislodged from his face. That’s too much tenderness for what they’re doing right now. This isn’t when he wants his big brother’s comfort, he wants everything else that Dean as just a man can give him.

 

Dean doesn’t say anything, just searches Sam’s face for a long moment, but then his body starts shaking with the effort to hold back. He pulls out until just the tip of his cock is still inside Sam and then pushes back forward all in one stroke.

 

Sam feels his eyes roll up and he opens himself up inside with all of his muscle control, then he grips onto Dean to not let him move for a moment, then releasing him. He likes the groan that he hears from his brother, so he does it again. And again. He loses track of the order of events after that, who comes first, who falls asleep first.  But he wakes up alone, not sticky or gross. Just feeling well-fucked and it’s a lovely sensation. New and painful when he moves a certain way too suddenly.  He lounges in bed for a long time, replaying the events of the last night. How it had all progressed so easily, like they were just two strangers and it was just a one night stand.

 

~*~

 

Sam takes a long shower that morning, trying not to get too worried about where Dean has gotten off to.  Maybe he’s gone out to get them breakfast? He waits around a little, then gives up when his stomach is growling and walks across the parking lot to the diner.  He’s on his third cup of coffee and is pushing around the remnants of his omelette when he sees a long black hearse pull up in the parking lot right outside the window.  The morning sun glints off the chrome, hitting his eyes.  He’s squinting at the bright flashes of light and then his jaw is hanging open, because Dean gets out of the hearse. He’s dressed in a severe black business suit, hair slicked down, and a serious look clouding his features.

 

Sam quickly rearranges his face and tries to get his thoughts together, because Dean sees him when he enters the diner. He’s headed right towards the booth, and now they’re going to have to talk about last night. And Sam’s not ready for that, he’s still too happy. He doesn’t want to hear Dean’s inevitable freak-out and brush-off.  

 

“That’s quite a car you’ve got there, where’s the Impala?” Sam asks, smiling at Dean as he slides into the booth across from him.  Dean waves the waitress over so he can place a to-go order.

 

“What Impala? That’s my work vehicle. That’s where I’m off to, soon as I get breakfast. Sorry that I can’t hang with you, I’ve got a family coming in first thing this morning.”

 

“A family. Oh uh, you’re supposed to be a what, a funeral director?”

 

“Yeah. Not supposed to be though, I am one. Took over the business from my dad this year, I hope it doesn’t creep you out or anything. It’s good, honest work. Can be a little lonely though,” Dean admits in a wistful sort of voice Sam has never heard him use before.

 

“Your dad?” Sam asks, hoping that the gulp he makes isn’t noticeable.

 

“He passed on, so I had to pick up the family business and keep taking care of people,” Dean answers.

 

“The family business…I see…well, I’m glad we ran into each other, have a good day,” Sam says with a little wave, feeling sick to his stomach at the realization of what he’s done. His brother doesn’t know him, and even worse, doesn’t know himself.

 

“Hey, uh, Sean, you gonna be around later? We could get lunch or whatever?” Dean asks, with an unabashedly shy yet beautiful smile.

 

“I’d like that, uh, Dan, sure,” Sam answers, slowly, because what else can he do?

 

“Pick me up, Westchester Mortuary, we’re over on 7th and Main, say, one o’clock or so?”

 

“See you then, Dan,” Sam says in a daze.  He watches as Dean leaves and Sam’s heart bursts into a million pieces.  His brother has some kind of amnesia. But either way, the mistake he made last night will haunt him forever. He’d thought he was finally getting his most secret, most desired wish. That Dean had wanted him. How is he ever going to be able to fix this, or explain it? To Dad, or oh god, to Dean. Sam downs the rest of his coffee and leaves a twenty on the table, exiting into the already hot morning. 

 

He gets back into his room, the one that still reeks of sex, and is riveted by the sight of the messed-up bed. The bed he’d willingly let Dean fuck him in last night. All that passion, all those moans, those hadn’t been for him, Dean had had no idea who he was or who he was fucking. He’d never have done it! Oh god! Sam rushes into the bathroom and just makes it in time to kneel on the tile and empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet.  He lays his cheek against the cool porcelain and pants for a while, a sudden flood of tears come, rolling into his ear. 

 

Brushing his teeth, he can’t even meet his own eyes in the mirror, he doesn’t want to see what he looks like. To be a man capable of doing something like that to the one person in the world he’s ever loved. He just doesn’t want to see himself. Pacing around the small room for  a while gets him thinking, there’s got to be a reason. Dean wouldn’t just have amnesia because of an injury. It’s got to be supernatural in nature, and he damn well knows how to research that. He hasn’t lost all the tricks his family taught him. And he’s going to use all of them to figure out what’s going on with his brother.

 

~*~

 

After spending the morning sucking up all the Wi-fi bandwidth the motel had been able to connect with, and finding a few leads to follow up, he realizes it’s time for his lunch date (is it actually a date?) with Dean. Sam walks into the hushed showroom with all the beautiful wood and velvet coffins laid out on display, struck with how nice it all is, and then hears his brother’s voice talking to the people who must be the family he mentioned.  He’s soothing and patient, compassionate and matter-of-fact, even funny in a restrained sort of way. It’s all so very Dean, and yet not.  

 

Dean finally notices him lurking there in the back of the showroom and nods with a wink when the family isn’t looking directly at him. Sam smiles and feels his stomach drop past the floor. How is he ever going to do this? He only has a week, two at the most to figure this out. And whatever he does, he has to resist whatever advances Dean’s going to make on him. 

 

Finally, Dean’s shown the family out and he sneaks up behind Sam, trapping him against one of the plush wooden coffins with a hand on either side of the edge. He presses himself fully against Sam’s back and whispers in his ear. “Never thought it would finally be one o’clock and you’d be here. God, you smell so good, Sean.”  Dean licks and nuzzles behind Sam’s ear and Sam shivers, memorizing the feeling because it needs to be the last time.  

 

He turns around slowly and Dean presses into his front, grinding their hard lengths together.   He’s lost the power of speech in favor of incoherent moans as Dean kisses him. Luckily the office phone rings, and Dean steps away to answer it.  Sam rubs his hands over his face, trying to calm down and regroup. He’s got to put him off somehow. He can’t go there again with Dean, it’s not fair. To either of them.  

 

Sam can hear Dean’s voice speaking in the office, laughing a little with whoever it is that’s calling. His eyes roam around and land on a display shelf in the corner, where most of the things look like ceremonial urns that you’d buy, but there’s one thing that stands out, a small brass statue that’s not blending in with all the other bland, unassuming urns and boxes.  He steps closer and looks at it curiously, it’s very detailed, a woman’s sad face and figure, kneeling next to a pregnant sow lying on its side.  He picks it up and sees the word  _Alphito_  carved into the bottom. It’s heavier than he’d thought it would be, it takes all his strength to lift it back up onto the shelf and the rest of his strength to be able to let go of it.

 

“Pretty cool little statue, huh? A family from a couple months ago gave it to me since they liked the funeral. Thought it looked nice up there.”

 

“Yeah, it’s really heavy, must have cost a lot.”

 

“I guess. But the Alphitolakas family has been around for a long time, they own a lot of the land around here.”

 

“Two months ago you say?” Sam asks, thinking about the timeline of when Dad had lost track of Dean.

 

“Yeah, why? Hey, you want to skip getting lunch, we can maybe lock the door on my office, take the phone off the hook…” Dean asks, hooking his arms around Sam’s neck and wiggling his hips in a provocative shimmy.

 

“Uh, no, I’ve got to, uh…really got to eat something. Kinda lost breakfast, guess diner food isn’t my thing. So…uh…I’m starving. Sorry.”

 

“No, no, don’t be sorry, Sean. How ‘bout I’ll take you to my favorite place down the block. You up for a walk?”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Sam answers, dizzy with the escape from Dean’s embrace.  He barely survives lunch, Dean flirting with him non-stop, touching him constantly, it’s all too good, exactly what he’s wanted, but this guy isn’t Dean. He has to remind himself.  _Dean would not do this. Dean doesn’t want this, doesn’t want this with me, doesn’t want me. I have to help him._  

 

Sam begs off when Dean suggests he takes a personal day off so they can spend it together, stammering out something vague about maybe seeing him tonight at the bar again and high-tailing out of the little taqueria where they’d had lunch. He practically runs the rest of the way back to his motel and struggles to keep the burrito down. 

 

As a distraction, he seizes on looking up Alphito and the family name Dean had given him.  These are the only clues he has to go on and he can’t handle thinking about the guilt and want eating him up from the inside.  It turns out that Alphito is a Greek grain goddess who was cursed with amnesia. There’s too much of a coincidence, someone must have whammied Dean along the way, maybe that Alphitolakas family. He can’t find too much on them, just that they seem to own half the town.

 

Later that night, he’s drawn back to the bar, at happy hour, because he can see the sign from across the parking lot, Free Food, and he’s hungry for dinner and out of any extra cash. Hopefully Dean won’t be there yet.  He washes up and looks at himself in the mirror for a long moment, psyching himself up, giving the pep talk that Dean would be. _I’m gonna go in there, be friendly, but put him off, because it can’t, it won’t happen again._

 

He pushes through the swinging saloon doors confident in his resolve, but Dean is in the same place, sitting sideways at the bar, looking out the front window, like he’s lost in thoughts that no one should dare interrupt.  Sam walks towards him slowly, drinking in the sight of him, because he might not see his brother much after this all gets fixed. This has already gone much too far to forgive.  

 

Dean spots him out of the corner of his eye, his face changes instantly from vacant to completely aware and interested, in that predatory way that’s always fascinated Sam. And oh, holy cow is he ever giving him the extra treatment. Sam internally groans, because this is going to be even more of a challenge.  He’s seen Dean go after girls like this, and not one of them has ever stood a chance of resisting. But he’s got to do it, somehow.

 

“Hey, you made it. Thanks for not making me wait,” Dean says in a low purr that brings Sam in closer to be able to hear all the words. “I really don’t like to wait.”

 

“I know. Believe me, I know. So, I’m gonna go get us some of that free food, all right? Can you order me a beer, just a beer this time,” Sam asks, scooting away from the arms and legs that Dean seems to be moving all at once to ensnare him in an embrace he won’t want to try and escape from.  He grins, flashes Dean the puppy-eyes, and makes it to the small buffet table. There’s taquitos, some sort of dip thing, some raw vegetables and meat on skewers. Sam loads up a couple plates and brings them back over to their spot at the bar.  He notices half way there that Dean is watching him. His skin begins to heat as he feels Dean’s eyes on him, he looks down quickly to make sure he’s still fully dressed.

 

“All that for just us?” Dean asks when he sees how much food Sam’s brought back to the bar.

 

“Hey, I’m a growing boy, you always sa…,” Sam says, cutting himself off from finishing that disastrous sentence.

 

“I don’t recall calling you a boy last night, but I will if it’s what gets you going. ‘cause you are all man as far as I’m concerned,” Dean says, popping the end of a taquito between his lips and sucking it in slowly with lascivious intent.

 

Sam frowns at the lurid twinkle in Dean’s eyes and sees Dean respond with his own frown.  “What’s wrong? Too much?” Dean asks, hand rubbing the back of his own neck.

 

“Yeah…uh…sorry. I just haven’t done this too many times. Not used to it, you know?”  Sam says, knowing that’s a lame apology, but hoping that Dean will lay off a little.

 

They eat the food without saying much, finishing their beers. Dean looks like he’s giving up, but then he turns his eyes back on Sam. “You want to come back to my place?” Dean looks at him, face looking like he’s about to crumble into tiny pieces, but he’s holding back the hurt, to put on a good final show.

 

Sam’s heart sinks, he can’t hurt his brother this way. But maybe he can get out of it once he’s there somehow. “Do I have to ride in your hearse?”

 

“Yeah, that a problem?”

 

“No. Uh, of course not.  I need a shot first. Order me a whisky or whatever, I’ll be right back.”

 

Sam escapes to the bathroom and splashes cold water on his face. He pats it all off with a paper towel and looks himself in the eye in the mirror.  _Resist. He’s your brother. He doesn’t want this._ _Not with you._

 

Sam is back at Dean’s side, and they take their shots together. Dean seems to know that he needs another one, so he orders, and they slam them down quickly.  He settles up with Hank the bartender and they leave, Dean’s hand back in place on his lower back. It feels like it goddamn belongs there at this point, like Sam should get a tattoo of the outline of Dean’s hand to remember this whole fiasco by.

 

The hearse is pretty awesome, cushy up front, much more room than in the Impala. And there’s all that room in the back. Sam thinks of several jokes he could make about making use of that space where the coffins normally go, but that’s probably in bad taste for funeral directors.  Dean notices him looking back behind them and chuckles.

 

“Yeah, of course I have. I figure it’s my car too, as long as I clean up, why not?” Dean says, laughing at Sam’s horrified expression.

 

“But you don’t want to…uh with me…back there?” Sam stutters.

 

“No, Sean, I’ve been picturing you, spread out in my bed, pretty much since I first saw you last night. Seems like it was meant to be somehow.”

 

Sam can’t respond to that, he just swallows loudly, nervous and excited and sick with the desire he knows he needs to fight.

 

The house Dean drives them to isn’t far from the funeral home, just a few blocks on a quiet, tree-lined street. It’s modest, a family would be happy here, but it’s just Dean, living in some family’s house, doing their family’s work like he was born to it.  Dean escorts him inside and the hand on the small of his back feels like a burning weight that he’ll be carrying until Judgement Day.  

 

“You want anything to drink?” Dean offers, obviously expecting Sam to refuse.

 

“Yeah, got any tea?” Sam asks.

 

Dean laughs. “No, I sure don’t. Coffee be okay?”

 

Sam nods in answer, perching on one of the counter barstools to watch Dean putter around his tidy kitchen. Everything is perfectly clean and organized. Not how he’d imagined his brother keeping house. “So, you’ve been living here by yourself for a while then?”

 

“Yeah, been a couple years since my dad passed. Mom went a few years before that.  Had a baby brother too, but he’s not…” Dean answers, obviously trying to hold in some emotion that he doesn’t want to express to a near stranger?

 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you something like that,” Sam says, at Dean’s side in a few steps, rubbing his hand gently on Dean’s shoulder.  He feels Dean lean towards him a little, and takes on his weight. They stand there together quietly as the coffee pot bubbles. 

 

“Yeah. It’s okay. I just don’t talk about it too much. Actually helps in my work, you know? Since I’ve experienced loss myself,” Dean admits, pouring two mugs. He gets milk and sugar out and gestures at it, Sam takes the hint and doctors up his coffee the way he usually drinks it. He watches in surprise as Dean does the same. Dean never puts anything in his coffee. But here he is putting milk and possibly more sugar in than Sam has. Does that mean Dean doesn’t prefer black coffee but drinks it anyway, just to be macho or something?

 

“And here I thought for sure you’d be a black coffee kinda guy,” Sam teases as he sips at the coffee.

 

Dean downs his entire cup in two big gulps, licking at the rim of the mug and looking Sam in the eye. “I like it sweet, and creamy.”  His lips move up into a smile that Sam can see is twitching.  Then they both burst out into laughter. 

 

Sam bumps his hip into Dean’s. “I can’t believe you actually went there.”

 

“Oh sweetheart, you have no idea,” Dean says, grabbing Sam around the waist and pushing him up against the counter.  “So, why’d you run out on me after lunch? Did I scare you?”

 

“No.  Uh. I just had some work to catch up on.”

 

“Uh huh, sure. I was surprised you showed tonight. But then usually, I’m more of a one-night kinda guy.  You, on the other hand, you are definitely more than that, I can tell.”

 

“Oh can you? Really, how?” Sam asks, desperately curious to find out what Dean thinks about him. When’s he ever going to get the chance, because Dean would never say it out loud. And yes he knows that makes him a bad person, all of this does, but too bad.

 

Dean lets go of him and steps back to lean against the opposite counter. “Because I haven’t wanted to bottom for anyone in a really long time. I feel safe with you. And it’s all I can think about since sucking your perfect cock last night.”

 

Sam’s mind is blown then, just hearing those words coming from Dean, he’d never been able to imagine how hot they’d be. They echo with firecracker bright sparks through his mind,  _Dean wants me, like that, he does, he must deep down somewhere._

 

“Let me show you what I mean, c’mon Sean,” Dean says, holding out a hand and cocking his head towards the dark hallway.

 

Sam gulps at his coffee, knowing this is his last chance to skip out on all this, save both of them from an even bigger load of guilt and regret. But he sees it, the need coursing through Dean’s beautiful face, the fragile needy part of his brother that’s always been hidden from him. Something in Sam reaches out to that part of Dean, wanting to soothe and assuage it, and it pulls him towards Dean. He’s taking Dean’s hand and following him down the hall, every step taking him closer to what feels like is going to be the most divine form of punishment the gods could ever devise.  _Thanks a lot Alphito,_  he thinks in a sarcastic aside to himself.

 

The bedroom is as neat as the kitchen was, and is dominated by an enormous bed. Dean pulls the comforter back, and begins taking off his clothes. Sam stands there like an idiot, gawking at his brother’s beautiful body, all that gorgeous skin waiting to be touched.  “Feeling a little overdressed, dude,” Dean says with a smirk.

 

Sam ducks his head in embarrassment and toes out of his shoes. Dean’s in his space, pulling at Sam’s shirts and then jeans, hindering more than helping, but it’s such a rush. Feeling how needy Dean is, how much he wants this is a huge relief. It’s not just him. He’s in the same state, pulling and pushing at Dean’s body as they finally get him undressed. 

 

They stand in front of each other, now both naked, looking each other up and down. Sam wants to say something, because Dean would never let him, but his mouth’s gone dry with anticipation and full of drool with the want. He can’t speak, all he can do is just look.

 

“You are really gorgeous, so hot Sean, can’t wait to have this inside me,” Dean says, placing one hand around Sam’s already hard-as-nails cock. He feels himself get even harder just at Dean’s touch, all in a rush, like he’s going to come right then and there. But he holds himself off with a groan.  

 

“Oh, so you like being handled, huh?” 

 

Sam doesn’t answer, just wraps his hand around Dean’s cock, the one that’s been poking into his hipbone this whole time. He holds it gently and then roughly strokes it a few times. Dean almost collapses under the weight of the sudden pleasure.  Sam’s got him now, so he pushes Dean to lay down on the bed. He’s all in a sprawl, legs spread wide, stroking himself.  

 

Sam stands at the edge of the bed, stroking himself in time with Dean, remembering the days of his pre-teen years, hearing Dean beating off in the bed next to him. Always being curious about what it looked like. Now he knows. And it’s way hotter than he’d ever let himself imagine. Dean looks like the best kind of porn star, blindingly handsome, and genuinely turned-on, totally into whatever’s about to happen next.

 

Sam kneels onto the bed between Dean’s spread legs and runs both of his hands up Dean’s thighs, stopping to frame Dean’s cock and balls between them. “You’re perfect, so beautiful,” he finally manages to say in a whisper, unable to meet Dean’s eyes. It kills him to imagine what his brother would say to something like that. But this is Dan, not Dean, and Dan likes the praise, he tilts his pelvis up into the weight of Sam’s hands, wanting some action or friction, something.

 

Dean wriggles under the teasing strokes of hands and fingers, touching everywhere but the place he obviously wants Sam to touch him.  “Sean, c’mon, stop teasin’,” Dean says in a whine.

 

Sam chuckles, ignoring that he’s hearing the wrong name in the white hot heat that flows through him at hearing that whine. He bends at the waist and kisses the tip of Dean’s cock, licks into the slit and gathers up the fluid that’s been waiting there for him.  They both groan in unison when Sam opens his mouth and takes him inside.  Sam sucks him in a slow, teasing rhythm, Dean pulsing his hips up to get deeper. Sam takes both of Dean’s balls in one hand, gently holding and caressing them, stroking one finger along the seam. 

 

Dean comes down his throat then, screaming his name, well his alias name, and hearing it reminds Sam he’s got to finish this. To be done, to get away. But Sam doesn’t get a chance, because Dean is not letting him go. As if he’s sensed Sam’s instinct to flee, he wraps his legs tightly around Sam, enclosing him in the heat, looking him challengingly in the eye. It all happens so fast, Sam hasn’t even swallowed yet, still holding the taste of his brother there in his mouth. He’s not sure why, maybe it’s that challenging look, that strikes him in the place where only Dean’s ever gotten into.  

 

But before he realizes what he’s doing enough to stop himself, he yanks Dean’s legs up, spreading him wide, opening his hole there, just below him and he drips all that come right from his lips down onto Dean’s hole. He plunges one finger in roughly, then takes it out scooping the whole mess up and pressing it back inside with two fingers. Dean comes unglued, making all sorts of incoherent and lovely noises. 

 

“You got anything?” Sam mutters. Distantly hoping that Dean will say no, and he can use that as a last chance excuse. But no, of course Dean is prepared, he points to the side table and Sam locates a condom as well as a mostly used tube of lube. He slides the condom on, jacking himself with some lube, he presses the rest inside Dean, working his fingers around, stretching him.  

 

Then he’s inside, he’s all the way inside Dean, just taking up all the room Dean’s got left. Like he’s always been waiting to be filled up just like this, by Sam. Dean’s eyes are shut and his face looks like he’s gone beyond bliss. Sam can feel Dean’s channel opening and fluttering as he adjusts, finally Dean nods. Sam starts moving then, all the way out so that the flared head of his cock pulls at the edge of Dean’s hole. Dean wails something slurred together nonsense,  _nogetbackinmemotherfucker,_  which makes Sam grin. He plunges back in until he feels his balls swing down, resting on Dean’s.  He stays deep inside and churns himself around, searching for the right angle, he knows he’s got it when Dean sighs, all the air leaving him a rush. “Yes, there, right there, don’t stop, please, Sean!”

 

Dean contracts all around him as he comes, making a mess of both of them. He’s clenching down hard, milking Sam of everything he’s been keeping back. He doesn’t mean to say it, not out loud, but he can’t control his body or his mind, it just feels too damn good, it’s overwhelmed all his control. “Always wanted this with you, Dean, always. I love you, god help me, I love you so much, Dean.” 

 

He can feel it, as he’s finishing coming deep inside his brother. Dean’s about to say something like “I’m Dan, not Dean,” but there’s an echo, of his own words, “I love you so much, Dean” that is banging around the room, bouncing off all the surfaces and hitting into them both over and over. Dean’s body reacts like it’s being pummeled by the words, impacting with tics and strange movements like he’s being rearranged from within.  His eyes roll up to the whites as Sam watches in horror.  He pulls out gently and disposes of the condom, sitting next to Dean’s still body, hand laid on his heart, feeling the wild beating under his palm.

 

Finally, Dean stirs, his body tightens all over, like it’s being re-inhabited in a punch of bleak air, he’s sitting up, and then standing all in one swift movement. He’s posed in a defensive crouch at the side of the bed, looking around the room, wild-eyed.  His face clouds and darkens when he sees Sam’s concern, but he says nothing, just scrambles around for his clothes, putting them on part way and leaving the room quickly.  

 

Sam sits there, left alone on the bed, worried that calling him Dean had hurt him somehow. Who is he kidding, of course it had hurt to be called the wrong name during sex like that.

 

“Are you okay, Dan?” Sam yells down the stairs, as he hears some crashing of what sounds like books or maybe, yeah that’s breaking glass. He pulls his clothes on quickly, pelts down the stairs and the front door is wide open to the night sky. He runs down the small walkway and searches both directions of the street, but there’s no one, Dean’s long gone _._

 

Sam spends the rest of the night in the empty bed, tossing and turning, wracked with worry that his amnesiac brother is out there all alone and upset, getting hurt somehow. In the morning he writes out a note to let Dean know where he’s going.

_Dan,_

_Hey, I’m sorry for how I hurt you last night._

_It’s kind of hard to explain._

_I’d like to try and tell you, if you want to listen._

_Here’s my number in case you want to call._

_I’ll be leaving town in a few days._

_Sean_

 

Something is niggling at the back of Sam’s mind as he walks back to his motel in the early morning’s pale light. The statue, the one in the funeral home, if it was causing all this, maybe if he destroys it, that will break the curse. He detours and sees that the front door is standing wide open, like there’s been a break-in. He wishes he had a weapon on him, but he slowly enters, eyes adjusting to the dimness, he hears someone slam out the back and a familiar rumbling engine start up, tires squealing as the person fleeing gets out before he can see. But he doesn’t need to, he’d know the sound of that car anywhere.  He flips the lights on in Dean’s office space and sees a hastily scrawled note on a yellow pad of paper. 

 

_Sammy,_

_Guess the curse or whatever is finally broken._

**_Sorry._ **

_Hope you can get back to school okay on your own._

_I’ve gotta go._

_Dean_

 

Sam sinks down onto the desk, tearing the paper off the notepad, crumpling it up into a tiny ball in one hand. He brings it to his mouth and sobs into the paper. “Damn. Oh god, Dean. I’m the one that’s sorry.”  

 

He spends a long time crying, pouring all the fear and guilt to the empty room. His tears eventually taper off and he finally comes back to himself. That’s it then, Dean’s gone, and it’s probably for the best. He can’t imagine how else this could go. Dean’s not going to forgive him, ever, and he shouldn’t!  **He’ll** never forgive himself. Wishing for it to be anything different is a waste of time. All he’s got left is trying to finish school and make a life for himself. 

 

Sam leaves a message for John at one of the many stops the bus makes on the way back to Palo Alto. Thank all the gods that it went to voice mail. “Hey, Dad. Yeah, so…uh, I found Dean. He was in Modesto, just like you thought. He was under some kind of cursed object spell. Gave him amnesia, he thought he was part of a family of funeral directors of all things. But, I think he’s okay now. Bye.”  He knows John will contact Dean at some point, and Dean will either meet up with him or just keep to himself for as long as he needs to.

 

He wraps himself in the sadness and guilt the whole trip back. No one talks to him or sits near him. Like he’s got a bubble of stay-away vibes surrounding him. And it’s good, to be alone, he deserves it after what he’s done. It seems likely he’ll never see Dean again. His heart breaks all over every time he thinks of him, of his face when he’d said those fateful words. The words he never thought he’d get to say to the person he loves the most in this world. It was the happiest moment of his life, and it had to be the very worst of Dean’s.  

 

He’s never felt more like a fuck-up. The hardest thing is that he won’t ever get a chance to apologize or explain it to Dean. He mentally bitch slaps himself. Because how in the world would there ever be an acceptable apology or explanation for what he’s done? It’s got to be better this way, that Dean will stay away from him, so he can’t ever hurt him again. All he’s got left is school, so he’s got to make that work. So he does.

 

~*~

 

Dean takes a few months to work things out for himself. First he’s disgusted at himself, then he’s angry at Sam, then he switches back. All the while he’s tracked down the Impala, made contact with Dad, and wasn’t that a fun conversation. Not. He tries to hook up a few times at dives where he’s pool-sharking, but either he’s lost his mojo, or his heart isn’t in it. Either way, he’s frustrated. And lonely.  He doesn’t call Sam, almost does several times, but he stops himself. It’s too much, too soon, he can’t even imagine what he’d say. He doesn’t want to imagine that Sam wouldn’t want to talk to him.

 

The words that Sam had said, that had seemed to ring and ring through his body as the spell finally broke, they’ve been playing on an endless loop in the background of whatever he’s doing. He analyzes it over and over again.  _What did Sam really mean? It must have been true for the spell to have been broken. But what is he supposed to do with this knowledge now? His brother loves him, like that. And wants him to be in his life._  He keeps picturing Sam’s face in that moment of confession, how he’d never seen his brother happier, and it wasn’t just his ‘O’ face either. Sam was really, truly happy. And hadn’t that been what his life was all about? Keeping Sam safe and making sure he was happy, that’s what he’s acknowledged as his prime directive. 

 

Finally he’s realized this isn’t something he can decide on his own, and it’s not a topic for discussion in email or on a phone call.  Way too important to risk that. So, he gathers himself together and swings by Stanford to tell Sam, that he’s on board with it. He’s happy to anticipate what Sam’s reaction will be. But he sees him walking across the quad with a beautiful, leggy, blonde. He shadows them for a little while, and they look good together. Sam looks happy. Not as happy as when he’d been inside Dean, together on that bed, looking down at him, declaring his love and all that jazz. No, not quite that happy. But maybe happy enough. And Dean decides he doesn’t want to screw that up for his little brother.  

 

He should have just left right then and there. Gotten out of Dodge, headed for the beach or headed back towards Vegas or something. But no. Like the idiot he knows he’ll always be, he decided to have one drink before hitting the road. The dive bar he chose was pretty far from campus, but then everything pretty much is. He’s sitting there alone, perched on a barstool, sipping down a California micro-brew that tastes vaguely lemony, staring at himself in the backbar mirror when he sees him. Sam, walking in with a small group of people, the leggy blonde next to him like she was earlier today. Dean watches as his little brother steers everyone to a table and then jumps up to order at the bar. He sees Sam approaching, step by step he comes closer and he repeats to himself that his decision is made. He’s going, he’s leaving, it’s better this way,  _for Sam_.  ** _All for Sam._**  He ducks his head down, pretending to look at his new cell phone, until he feels his brother’s hand on his shoulder.

 

“Did you really think I wouldn’t see you?”

 

“Hey, Sam. I just…uh…didn’t want to interrupt you with your friends, especially that hot blonde,” Dean says, knowing how completely lame that sounds as soon as the words leave his mouth. He makes a rude leer at the table Sam’s friends are sitting at.

 

“Really? That’s all you’re gonna say? Not a word for all these months. After all this time, that’s it?” Sam’s hand tightens on his shoulder until it’s almost hurting. Dean meets Sam’s eyes in the mirror and finds he can’t speak. “You asshole,” Sam spits.

 

Sam’s hand drops, and so do his eyes. He signals the bartender over. “Hey, we need a pitcher and six glasses over there,” Sam says, pointing at the table where his friends are all laughing at someone’s joke. He throws a twenty on the bar and stalks back over to the table, sliding into the booth bench next to his girl on the end.

 

Dean sits on his barstool, feeling like he should just slide off and melt into the sticky mess on the floor. The night cleaning staff can mop him up and pour him down the drain. What’s the point now?  He looks at himself in the mirror once again, sucking his pint glass dry. He looks empty, as drained dry as his beer glass. Just knowing Sam was his brother used to fill him up. Just knowing Sam loved him in some way was what mattered. Before everything else. Now who the hell knows what his brother even thinks. He’ll probably never get to ask him. He orders another beer, with a whisky chaser this time. Might as well get too drunk to drive, because why the hell not?

 

He drinks  and watches, watches and drinks. Soaks in all the booming laughs that are Sam’s, can only be Sam’s, because no one laughs like that except his little brother. He can hear how forced it is, that Sam’s trying to show him he’s having a good time even though his asshole of a brother is crashing his party.  _What did he think he was going to accomplish even coming here? What, was he going to drag Sam off like some caveman, you come with me, we go hunt?_ Sam’s definitely gotten past all that now, past him, wanting him, needing him, loving him. Obviously, look at the way he’s got his arm around that beautiful girl. How she’s looking up at him with those eyes filled with who knows what, it’s hard to see from this far away, and he’s had too many shots of whisky by now. 

 

He orders another and is actually looking at his phone this time to check and see if there’s a message from Dad. Hoping to be rescued from this self-created train wreck by some other poor bastard’s need for a hunter’s rescue. That’s when he feels the hand on his shoulder. But it’s not as heavy as Sam’s. He looks up and sees it’s the girl, the hot blonde, Sam’s girl.  She’s standing there, next to his barstool, with her hand on his shoulder like she knows him. Or wants to.  

 

“Hey sugar, what’s up?” Dean asks, mildly alarmed at the slight slur in his voice.

 

“You’re the guy, right? Sam’s guy?” the girl asks, her face friendly, but intense.

 

“I’m nobody’s anything, not anymore,” Dean says, slamming that door before she can get it open.

 

“Dude, cut it out. He really misses you. This is the first time we’ve gotten him out of the dorm in two whole months,” the girl says, looking at him like she’s seeing right through all the bullshit, right down to the man who screwed his little brother.

 

“He’s not mine. Like I said, sweetheart, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean says, turning away from her to get her hand off his shoulder, the weight of it suddenly oppressive.

 

She doesn’t give up though, just tightens it almost as tightly as Sam had a while ago. “Listen, buddy. Sam hasn’t been the same since you and he got together. He came back from vacation, and he was completely different. Like he’d filled in his missing piece or something, but then someone took it all away. I know I’ve only heard his side of things, but the thing between you two, well, it sounded like it was a long time coming. Something he’d always wanted. And you gave it to him and then split. Not cool, dude. Just talk to him, okay? He needs you.”  

 

“What’s it to you anyway? You’re his girl, right?” Dean asks with nasty venom.

 

“No, it’s not like that. Not at all. We love each other, but just as friends. I gave up on that a while ago. He’s got no room in his heart left, you’ve been taking up all the space, buddy.” She squeezes his shoulder briefly then lets go and walks back to snuggle into Sam’s side. Sam pulls her in close and laughs uproariously at something one of his buddies shouted.

 

Dean watches all of this blearily from across the room, hoping that Sam will at least make eye contact. But nothing. He orders another whisky shot and tosses it back. When the glass is empty he stands, unsteady, unsure of his next move. He looks one last time at Sam, and is surprised to see his brother’s glaring eyes tracking his motion. Dean motions with his head towards the door and raises his eyebrows, then stumble-stalks outside. 

 

The cool, California air, finally moist with the night’s fog feels good after the closeness of the bar. He leans up against the Impala’s front fender, waiting to see if his brother will come out or not. He’s just about to give up and drive in search of a place to crash when the bar door opens and closes. A tall man’s outline is silhouetted briefly in the warm spill of light from the bar. The wide shoulders and long hair unmistakably Sam. Dean tightens himself up at his brother’s approach, battens down the hatches for the coming storm. Wraps up his heart in the Faraday cage that will allow for no incoming signals to reach it.

 

Sam leans up against the Impala’s fender next to him, not touching, but close enough to be able to easily.  “Jess told me, what you asked her. About she and I being a couple. Is that why you…?” Sam asks, trailing off at the end like he’s not sure why he’s even asking.

 

Dean nods, not wanting to say anything more about it.

 

“I looked for you, man. For weeks. But I finally had to come back here, that was all I had left since you ditched me. Figured you’d come back once you’d had some time. Or you wouldn’t, if you couldn’t deal. Well, I hoped you would.”

 

Dean doesn’t say anything, just marvels at how well his brother knows him. It shouldn’t be a surprise. They know each other as well as any other two people ever could. Sam’s always been the more perceptive of the two of them. But he can’t answer, or speak up for himself or his actions.

 

“Is this you, coming back because you had enough time to figure things out?” Sam asks with a restrained hopefulness that just kills Dean to hear.

 

“Sammy, I…” Dean finally says, each word feeling like shards of broken glass cutting up his insides.

 

Sam interrupts him. “Don’t say you’re sorry. I get it. I shouldn’t have just said it like that. Not when you weren’t even yourself.”

 

“That’s not why I left, Sam, I couldn’t believe I did that to you.”

 

“Did what?”

 

“That just because I had amnesia or whatever from that spell the freakin’ witch had put on me, I let myself do that to you.”

 

“You didn’t do anything  ** _to me_** , Dean. If anything, I took advantage of you. What are you even saying?”

 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. That’s what I’m saying. I shouldn’t have let it happen in the first place.”

 

“So, what I told you, right before you left, that’s not why you’re here?” Sam asks in a low, pained mumble.

 

“Naw, I know you didn’t mean all that, heat of the moment in the middle of hot and heavy sex, people say all kinds of stuff. I’m not holding you to it, if you’re worried about it.”

 

Sam stands up with his hands clenched into fists, knuckles gone white; Dean has a chance to glance at his face and is terrified by the sudden rage, then he’s getting clocked with a fist to his jaw.  He  wasn’t expecting a punch like that, and he’s unsteady with all the whisky so he goes down, crumpling against the side of the Impala.

“You are so screwed in the head, dude. You still can’t even accept it? I love you, you freakin’ idiot. Don’t you get it?”

 

“Hell of a way of showing it, Sammy,” Dean says, rubbing at his jaw.

 

“So why the hell did you even come here then? Huh?” Sam asks, arms crossed and chin jutted out.

 

Dean looks up at him from his spot against the side of the Impala, briefly considers trying to stand up, and decides he’s better off farther away from Sam’s fists.  “Just wanted to check up on you.”

 

“That’s it? Really? Last chance, dude,” Sam says, jaw tightening and flexing.

 

Dean bows his head and looks at his hands laying there in his lap. Empty. But they’re the ones that had held Sam, had felt every inch of his skin, had loved him. He can hear the deadline seriousness in Sam’s voice, he means it, this is his last chance to say it or not. Everything that means anything to him is standing right there in front of him with his arms crossed, practically breathing fire out of his nose. “All right, you got me, I came to see if you really meant all that stuff, or not.”

 

Sam blows out a breath with a heavy sigh, it sounds almost like a baby elephant trying to trumpet and sinks down to the side of the car next to Dean. “Yeah, I did. I meant every word. Of course I did. I wouldn’t ever say something like that if I didn’t. Don’t you know me?”

 

“I didn’t know you, not like that. And I didn’t even know myself, then all of a sudden the spell or whatever was gone, and I did. All at once, it all came crashin’ in on me. It was hard to wrap my head around. I’m sorry I left like that.”

 

“I’m sorry too. That I didn’t figure it out, that you really had amnesia, until after we’d gone to bed the first time. I seriously feel like I took advantage of you. I felt sick about it, man. But I’m really sorry that you left, and that you thought for one second that it was just some lies I was laying on you while we were in bed.”

 

“Sammy, it’s what saved me. From the curse thing. You telling me that, while we were, uh, you know.”

 

“Really? A true love’s fuck curse? That’s a thing?”

 

“Apparently. And if you hadn’t gone there, and done and said that, I’d still be a mortician in Modesto.”

 

“It does have a certain ring to it, alliteration and all,” Sam says with a one-sided grin.  “So, you forgive me for taking advantage of you, while you weren’t you?”

 

“Yeah, of course. I mean, as I remember it, I came on pretty damn strong, and I know I’m irresistible and all,” Dean says with his own grin matching Sam’s.

“So, you wanna come back to my place? We can find some ice for that,” Sam points at the darkening bruise on Dean’s jaw.

 

“Sure, sounds good, but you’re drivin’,” Dean says, tossing Sam the keys.

 

“You were a mortician, Dean. And you seemed pretty damned good at it, I watched you a couple times, especially the handling the sad people stuff, you were great with them,” Sam says as he steers them out of the gravel parking lot.

 

“I was just channeling you, Sammy. You’re the one that’s good with grieving widows and stuff,” Dean says, leaning against the window and looking his fill of Sam driving his car.

 

“That’s bullshit. You were great, really great. I was surprised, actually. I think you could do it, for real, if you ever wanted to go legit, you know.”

 

“Go legit?”

 

“Yeah, like if you want to take a break, settle down for a while,”

 

“You mean, settle down, like here?”

 

Sam just looks at him like he’s the stupidest person on Earth.

 

“You want us to what, move in together or something?”

 

“Yeah,…uh, I do. I mean, if you want to. I think it’d be…well it’d be good.”

 

“I’ll think about it when I’m not drunk, okay?”

 

“Sure, yeah, plenty of time for thinking,” Sam says, sounding a little disappointed.

 

“That wasn’t a no, by the way,” Dean says with a smirk.

 

“I know, I heard you,” Sam says, looking guilty.

 

“Nothing to be guilty about, Sam, why’re you makin’ that face?”

 

“I’m asking for too much. I know I am. I’m sorry, I’ll stop. I’m just glad you’re here, okay?”

 

“Okay, okay. Me too, and you’re not asking for too much. I just need some time with the idea, that’s all,” Dean says.

 

Sam nods and shuts up. Dean can see that his mind is still racing though, judging by the expression he’s got on his face and how his hands are clenching and unclenching nervously on the steering wheel. Dean doesn’t say anything, just watches his brother fret and drive, until he’s being awoken and Sam’s pulling him out of the car and wrapping his gorilla arm around his waist, hustling him up the stairs and into a small dorm room.  Dean crashes down onto one of the beds. _Gotta be Sam’s bed it smells like him, smells like Sammy_  is the last thought he has for a while.

 

He wakes up a little when Sam puts an icepack on his jaw and runs his hands through his hair. Just enough to grab Sam’s hand that’s in his hair and hold onto it, until he falls back into blackness. Of all nights why did he have to drink so much?

 

In the morning he wakes up to Sam’s face a few inches from his, eyes wide and bright and brimming with happiness. He can feel that Sam’s wrapped his whole body around his own to make them fit in the small bed. “G‘mornin,” he finally manages to say.

 

Sam leans forward and brushes their lips together. “Good morning,” Sam says in what sounds like a thunderous pronouncement.  “Sorry, I’ll be quieter,” he whispers when he sees Dean’s wince.

 

Dean wants to just go back to sleep, and avoid going through with the hangover, but what he wants more is to be here, with his brother, finally in his arms. “Thanks, Sammy,” he says, snuggling back into Sam’s side and closing his eyes, hoping Sam will do the same, and not make him get out of this perfectly wonderful, warm bed quite yet.

 

Sam starts getting antsy, legs twitching, arms fidgeting, until he finally starts unwrapping himself and making a move to get out of bed.  Dean peeks one eye open and asks in a low growl, “Where ya goin’?”

 

“Just down to get some breakfast. I’ll bring some back up. You want some coffee, right?”

 

“Yeah, that’d be awesome, thanks,” Dean says, turning over to flop in the warm spot that Sam’s left in the bed, inhaling the scent of his brother left behind.  He of course isn’t able to go back to sleep, since that smell reminds him that he’s going to have to be coherent enough to talk to Sam, and soon. He groans as he hoists himself up off of the small bed, and then scrambles around the room looking for shower supplies. He snags Sam’s soap and towel and heads out the door to take a quick shower before Sam gets back.  He’s toweled off his hair and is sitting at Sam’s desk, looking out the window at the quad below.

 

Dean grunts, acknowledging the coffee that Sam sets on the desk in front of him.

 

“See you found the shower. Feeling any better?”

 

Dean takes a sip of the coffee and grimaces at the heat. “So you really think I could do that, for like a job?” Dean asks, continuing the conversation they’d started and not finished last night.

 

“What? Be a mortician? Yeah, of course,” Sam answers through a mouthful of granola and yogurt.

 

“Gross. Wonder if I have to go to school or anything?”

 

“Yeah, my friend, Ross, I was talkin’ to him down in the cafeteria just now. His dad’s brother is one, went to school up in San Francisco for a couple years. You apprentice and learn all the stuff you probably already know, I bet it’d be easy for you.”

 

“Huh. I always figured I’d be like a mechanic or something, if I ever stopped hunting.”

 

“When did you ever picture that?”

 

“Uh, kind of recently. I was in the South, in Missouri, talking to a friend of mine. She uh…asked me what I’d do if I wasn’t huntin’, so I started thinkin’ about it.”

 

“A friend, huh?”

 

“Yeah, a friend, let’s just leave it at that.”

 

“Fine, fine. Ross said he’d find out about the mortuary school if you want,” Sam says.

 

“Where am I supposed to live while I go to school, huh? Assuming they’d even take a guy with just a GED and some experience that I can’t actually claim under my own name,” Dean asks.

 

“We can get a place, off campus, maybe you can even take the train up to school. San Francisco is pretty close.”

 

“You really want to live together? You think we could?” Dean asks, just the thought of what Sam’s asking waking him up more completely than coffee ever could.

 

“I want to try. would you at least do that for me? For us?” Sam asks, and Dean can see he’s trying to control using the puppy-eyes, that means this is for real and for serious.

 

Asking something like that means that this is the real deal, for them at least. Dean does the only thing he can do to stall for time, respond with a big-brother teasing question instead of an answer. “So, there’s an us, then?”

 

“Yeah. I mean, there is if you want there to be. You do, right?”

 

Dean drains his coffee and sets the mug on the desk, he takes the bowl and spoon from Sam’s hand and puts them next to the mug. Then he folds himself down over a surprised Sam, who pulls them back down onto his bed. Dean kisses his answer into Sam’s lips, trails the answer along with kisses along his jaw, whispers the answer into his ear while nibbling on his earlobe. 

 

The answer is yes, of course it’s yes, what else could it possibly ever be?

 

_~The End~_


End file.
